


An introspection into Sterek domestic life

by thatdragonchic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All the cute stuff, Breakfast, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and leave a comment, it's great, just read it, plz, sterek, stiles in dereks sweats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic
Summary: A look into Sterek falling in love over the summer of 3ait all started to feel like home to Derek(written for my sweet love Trent)





	An introspection into Sterek domestic life

**Author's Note:**

> leave your comments please!)

He was soft skin and fragile bone, but he was also sharp wit and a great mind. The kind of mind that thoroughly enjoyed a paper every morning with his coffee, like perhaps he was an old, old man. Or perhaps they were in a different time, a different world. Stiles was the sanction Derek never knew he longed for, until he became that sanction on long summer days, and even longer nights looking for the Alpha pack, looking for Erica and Boyd. Any sign of life, and he could tell, that Stiles felt like he’d fallen behind, like he was desperately grasping at straws, but then Stiles would be there at the kitchen table in the morning with the paper and a mug full of coffee and Peter across from him on his laptop and everything felt like home again. Stiles felt at peace again, another day to try and figure things out because stiles always figured them out. 

It was accidental really, that Stiles ended up here, a book under his cheek, curled in Derek’s covers. And Derek slowly pries it away, so maybe his last few moments of sleep, he will sleep more comfortably, and he hardly hesitates to kiss his cheek. He recalls the previous evening, vividly. They didn’t  _ do  _ anything necessarily but they talked, talked for hours, until Derek was tired and Stiles was comfortable with a book. 

“Have you read this one?”

“A few times actually…”

“So tell me the story,” he whispers.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“I want you to tell it…”

And Stiles nose is upturned just slightly, his face is very close to Derek’s, and they’re dark and cozy and Stiles has decided to borrow Derek’s sweatshirt. His father has no clue where Stiles is, no idea that he’s here in Derek’s bed, smiling in a way Derek has never seen him smile before. Derek feels dizzy, Stiles scent is thick with contentedness and something like nutmeg (or maybe it was cinnamon, he couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps it was both, he wasn’t so sure.) 

“You could read it,” Derek offers.

“You could read it to me.”

“I wake up too early to stay up late and read to you. Besides, you’re literate last I checked.”

“Sure and I sleep too late to wake up early but if you insist, I’ll read it myself.”

Before either could turn, Stiles presses a small, tooth paste fresh kiss to Derek’s lips, and it’s soft and gentle and  _ caring _ . It’s been a long while since anybody really cared about Derek, had kissed him softly, held him like he was breakable. Rarely did anybody think an Alpha like Derek was breakable. Somebody so tough, so strong…. 

“Sleep,” Stiles urges and he did, and that’s how he ended up watching the air in Stiles lungs convulse at the muscles in his neck, touch the spit bitten lips and scrunch up his nose. He thinks that Stiles is  _ beautiful  _ and made of something magic. Everything about him looked golden, everything about him looked unearthly, like perhaps it’s what gods were made of, stardust and iron and intrigue. He was so gorgeous, it made Derek hurt inside a little. And he’s compelled to sneak out of bed, to go downstairs and make coffee for Stiles, because he was always up before Peter anyways. But who needs to go to the gym downstairs in the building when he could make Stiles coffee? He grabs his keys and decides to run to the store. He has  _ time _ or at least he feels that way. Like there is such thing as time, as having time, as being able to live comfortably and lovingly. And he hardly even knows Stiles sees him in that same way, that affectionate, loving, tender caress and golden sunshine, what god’s are made of, cliche sort of way. He just feels compelled to go and buy the things that make up a Tiramisu latte, that Stiles mentioned loving so very dearly once before. 

He looks at an ingredient list as he buys them, picks up the paper like Peter seemed to most mornings and returns to set up the coffee pot, decides maybe he’ll cook up omelettes for breakfast. And his heart nearly stops at the sight of Stiles treading downstairs kind of sleepily, the paw of the too-big sweatshirt wiping at his eyes as he yawns. 

“Peter, you are the worst cook in the world, what are making that smells-  _ oh.  _ Good morning you,” Stiles greets, genuinely but pleasantly surprised Derek is in the kitchen. 

“Peter is that bad?”

“Black magic would have to be involved.”

Stiles stands on his toes to look over Derek’s shoulder, as if he couldn’t move beside him, like he just had to stand right there behind his shoulder, standing on his tiptoes, holding Derek’s arms. “Avocado and tomato omelette,” he says, and he can feel Stiles smile through his skin, he almost wants to relent his neck, give all his trust to stiles and Stiles squeezes his arms before kissing his cheek. 

“Sounds better than burnt toast.”

“Why don’t you make it?”

“Because I can be very lazy.”

“So I’ve come to notice,” Derek notes and Stiles smiles, tugging at his bicep playfully and Derek turns to look at him with a very questioning eyebrow, Stiles giggling like he’s done something very coy. “Do you mind, I’m making breakfast.”

“And I’m trying to fight you.”

“Fight me?”

“For fun.”

“You’re _ so _ weird.”

“I’d so lose but you’d never hurt me.”

He sounds so certain and Derek raises a challenging brow and Stiles raises one back. Although Stiles expressions speak more volumes than Derek’s infamous brows, but he squints at Stiles in challenge who in return kisses Derek softly and shuts the stove off. 

“We are not burning breakfast today, big guy.”

“Yeah… no burned breakfast today.” 

Stiles smiles and retreats to the chair he always sits in and picks up the paper. It wasn’t the one Peter always got him but he’d make a point to enjoy it nonetheless. He recieves a very nice latte and laughs in surprise. “You did the most.”

“I did, I felt like being nice today.”

“You’re like a giant  _ teddy bear!  _ Awwh.”

“Stop, stop that right now,” Derek says, trying not to smile but Stiles starts to poke at his stomach and Derek grabs his hand to avoid being ticklish and Stiles, sweet sweet Stiles, starts to kiss his wrist in earnest. “Sit down and eat your omelette.”

“What about Peter?”

“Burn some toast, show him revenge.”

“Oh stop, you get an omelette he does too.”

“Unless you kiss your uncle, that’s in no way an excuse.”

“He annoys the shit out of me, so do  _ you _ .”

Stiles scoffs and shakes his head but he’s too content with his coffee and paper to say anything. He does poke at the omelette but Derek notices that it’s not until Peter has groggily joined them and Derek’s sat down that Stiles really starts to eat. And he shares the contents of the paper with Peter who nods in vague interest, indulging in a magazine this morning, and in return Peter would share the latest fashion crisis with Stiles before pointing at that maybe Stiles himself should be in this section. (Stiles ignores that comment each time) 

And Derek looks between the two, and their banter and how Peter treats Stiles like Stiles might be his nephew, how it resembles the relationship they used to have. It feels like home and nothing has felt like home in years. Things feel a little mended and Derek doesn’t mind so much that he feels warm and at home, that even when Isaac is over and fighting with Stiles, everything feels safe, everything feels okay, everything feels homey. 


End file.
